Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word
by Bone Dry
Summary: Purely one-shots, and purely on an impulsive, humor-driven basis, though meant to be kept in-character. Similar to the "Couple's Counseling" extras, though some will take place within the shrink room. Rating for -mild- language
1. Session I

Although I hate Sweets, these are fun...

New ones will be sporadic. Who knows how long I'll be doing these? All one-shots, all self-contained. All meant to be funny.

Laugh, then review!

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

Click. Click. Click.

_Thump._

Click. Click. Click.

_Thwap!_

Click. Click. Cli—

"Goddamnit, Booth!"

Click.

Hard rib-jab.

"Ow!"

Silence.

Pause.

Click. Click. Click.

Exhalation to the left.

Tap. Click. Click. Tap. Click.

_Thump!_

"Booth, you do that one more time..."

"Hehe. You sound like that woman from _Chicago._"

"Yeah. And the story's going to end like that too."

Silence.

Another exhalation.

"Are we done yet?"

Two eyes flick over. "We haven't started yet."

"Why?" her voice is sharp.

"Agent Booth has yet to be quiet."

"Well, _I_ was being quiet. I refuse to be penalized for my partner's actions."

"That's how this exercise works."

Exhalation from the left.

Silence.

Click. Click. Click.

_Thump._

Click. Click. Click.

"I'm starting to understand why you haven't given me a gun."

"And why is that?"

"She wasn't talking to you, Sweets."

"Agent Booth, we can extend this exercise if you like."

Silence.

Clic—

"I _will_ take your gun out of your holster and shoot you if you don't stop clicking your pen."

"Now, now, Dr. Brennan. Let's try to keep our tempers in-check."

"Stop talking to me as if I'm infantile, and I swear to god, Booth, I will crack that pen."

"Yeah, right, Bones."

"I will."

"Will not."

"Of course I will. I am not going to sit here and listen to you click that pen again."

Silence.

Finger tapping.

Exhalation from the right.

Click.

"That's it."

"Hey, wai—"

The pen is grabbed.

He swats for it.

She holds it out of his reach.

Pieces of the pen begin falling to the ground.

"Bones!" he tries to grab for it.

Her heels crush a piece. It's the inkwell. She picks it up and hands it to him.

"There you go."

"Bones, that was my only pen."

"I warned you."

"But, I..."

"Don't care."

Silence.

Exhalation on the right.

"Did the exercise start yet, Sweets?"

"No."

Finger tapping.

The inkwell drops to the floor.

Exhalation on the left.

A stress ball is lifted from the table.

_Crinkle._

Exhalation from the middle.

Squeak. _Crinkle_. Squeak. _Crinkle._ Squeeaaaaa—

The toy is ripped from its holder's hands.

"Bo—"

It is stuffed into the lining on the opposite side of the couch.

Exhalation from the right.

Watch check from the left.

Exhalation from the left.

Foot tapping.

Throat clearing on the left.

"It's never going to get any more quiet than this, Dr. Sweets."

"We'll see, Dr. Brennan."

Sigh.

Uncrossing and recrossing of legs.

Booth's shoes kick a toy off the table as he puts his feet up.

"Agent Booth."

"Deal with it."

"I can keep you here longer."

"If you even try, one of us is going out that window."

"Care to talk about your suicidal tendencies?"

"I'm fairly certain that Booth was implying homicidal tendencies."

"I'm aware, Dr. Brennan."

"Apparently not."

Exhalation from the other side of the table.

Foot tapping.

Exhalation on the left.

She gets up.

Eyes follow her

"I need to use the restroom."

"Take your time, Bones."

Pointed look. Then she's gone.

"The longer she's in there, the longer you stay."

Glare from across the table.

"Shut up, Sweets."

Silence.

The door clicks shut to the left.

--

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	2. Session II

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

II

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"Bones?"

The anthropologist looks up from her fingernails. "What?"

"Hear that?"

She pauses.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"It's the light bulb." She flips her wrist and resumes admonishing her fingernails' uneven growth.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz...

Booth's leg begins to jiggle.

"Stop it." Her eyes don't so much as shift from her nails.

He stops.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Zzzzzzzz...

Zzzzzzzz...

"You don't hear that?"

"Of course I hear it."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"No."

Silence.

Apparently satisfied with her nails, she pulls a large manila envelope from her purse and grabs it between her teeth before rummaging around for something else. Grabbing a pen, she clicks the top and holds it between her fingers as she drops the envelope into her hand and pulls out a thin, blue folder.

She flips it open and begins to read.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He taps his fingers.

Her eyebrows scrunch and she scribbles something into the margin of the folder. Booth tries to look but she angles it away from him.

"Why can't I see?"

"Student papers. It would be unethical."

"But I'm bored."

"Then you should've brought a book."

He sighs.

She scribbles something else.

He checks his watch. "Where the hell is Sweets?"

She looks up, "When I was in college, there was a rule that if the instructor was fifteen minutes late, we could leave, no questions asked."

"We were waiting in the lobby for twenty."

"Doesn't count. Fifteen minutes _over_ the start of class meant we could leave."

"Well, in that case it's been..." he checks his watch. "Nine."

"It happened a few times," she continues, ignoring him. "but I stayed anyway. Generally the prof never showed up in either case."

"Why wouldn't you just leave?"

She shrugs, "Nowhere else to go."

He exhales.

She returns to her binder.

Finger tapping.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Zzzzzzzzzzz...

Zzzzzzzzzzz...

Another watch check. "Ten."

Brennan flips a page, the pen in her mouth. She tucks loose bangs behind her ear.

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

His foot jiggles again.

"Stop."

He doesn't.

Her eyes flick up.

He stops.

She looks back down.

He glances at his watch. "Eleven."

Her pen drops from her mouth and she catches it to scribble something.

He sighs and props his feet on the coffeetable, knocking all but one of the objects on it onto the floor. He grabs the remaining stress ball—a sumo wrestler—and begins to squeeze it.

_Crinkle._

Squeak.

_Crinkle._

Squeak.

_Crinkle._

Squeak.

_Crinkle._

Squuuuuueeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaa—

He jumps as Brennan suddenly flashes forward, automatically pulling outward. Her nails, instead of hitting the toy, tear painfully down his arm.

"Ow!"

He coddles it, and, in the moment of pause, she rips the thing from his hand and throws it across the room.

She returns to her paperwork as he gapes at the red lines on his arm, and the deeper scratch has loosened skin.

"Bones?" he breathes.

"You know that thing irritates me."

"But you scratched me!"

"I was aiming for the stress ball."

"It's a sumo wrestler."

"As if it matters."

"But you scratched me."

"Accidentally."

His arm hurts. He licks it.

Brennan ignores him.

Sighing, he leans back and checks his watch.

"Thirteen."

"You think counting down will make any difference?"

"Helps me."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Then how does it help?"

"It just does, alright? It does."

"Okay. No reason to get snippy."

"Snippy?"

She doesn't reply, flipping the page.

"Who says snippy?"

Silence on her end.

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz...

Zzzzzzzz..

Zzzzzzzz...

He fishes around inside his suit and grabs his die.

_Click. Click._

_Click. Click._

_Clickclickclickclick..._

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz...

_Click. Click._

_Click. Click._

_Click. _Buzz.

_Click. _Buzz.

Watch check. "Fourteen."

Brennan underlines and writes something in the margin.

He cups his hand over the die and jiggles them around. "Ten," he says.

He releases them, and they fly onto the cofeetable.

Fisheyes.

Damnit.

He grabs them and jiggles them around some more.

"Six."

_Clatter._

They land on the table.

Four and a five.

Damn.

Grab. Jiggle.

"Seven," Brennan mutters.

_Clatter._

Two and a five.

Damn her.

"Lucky."

She's scribbling again, eyebrows scrunched.

He sighs. "Eight."

Two fours.

"Yes!"

She doesn't comment.

He checks his watch.

"Fifteen!" he shouts, jumping up. "Alright. I am outta—"

"Hey, guys, sorry I'm late," Sweets says, opening the door. He's holding two clipboards and a box of hats. "Traffic. Wouldn't believe it." He sets the box on his desk and opens a drawer.

"Bones?" Booth says, not turning his eyes from Sweets.

"Hm?" she still hasn't looked up from her folder.

"If the professor arrived, you know, exactly fifteen minutes late...?"

"People would generally leave right before then, just in case."

"So it was alright to leave?"

"Legally? Yes."

"Cool." He grabs his coat. "Bye, Sweets." He heads for the door.

"Wha—"

Brennan follows, tucking her report back into its envelope.

"This has been a fairly painless session," she says, pausing, "Though, of course, that's likely because there wasn't a session at all."

"What?" Sweets is staring at them.

Knowing she wouldn't appreciate him waiting for her to walk out first, Booth exits into the hall as the anthropologist shuts the door.

"Diner?" he asks.

"Sounds good." She shoves the envelope into her purse and they take off.

_Back with Sweets..._

"Guys?" he asks the door, wondering what had just happened. "Guys?"

No answer. Seconds before, they'd walked by the little glass windows in the direction of the elevator.

He looks back at his desk. "This sucks."

On the floor, jammed into the corner between two walls, is his sumo wrestler, and he sighs as he goes to pick it up.

_Crinkle._

Squeak.

_Crinkle._

Squeak.

He plops into his usual seat.

_Crinkle._

Squeak.

_Crinkle._

Squeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak.

He taps his fingers.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz...

_Crinkle._

Now what?

Never should've stopped for that coffee.

Squeeeeaaaaaaaak.

--

Review on your way out!

(and, yes, that fifteen minute rule does exist...at least here!)

:)


	3. Waiting Room I

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

III

"You know what I hate, Bones?"

"This waiting room?"

"How did you know?"

Brennan flips a page in her book, which looks to be approximately sixteen-times the size of his magazine. "Because you said that five minutes ago."

"Oh."

She purses her lips and goes back to reading.

"You know what else I hate, Bones?"

No reply.

"I'll tell you anyway."

"Mm," she grunts.

"The fact that _we_ have to wait when Sweets pulled us in on a Saturday."

"Yes, that is unfortunate."

Silence.

"You don't seem as upset as me."

"Maybe that has something to do with the fact that I brought a book, as I have brought a book or at least something else to do for the last several weeks, and _you_, despite my advice and all other logic, have not."

"You could've just said 'I have more patience' or something."

"Well, I do, but I assume that you—with your innumerable people skills—would've deduced that."

"You know, maybe you just shouldn't have replied at all and just gone on ignoring me and reading that," he lifts the cover of her book, ignoring her glare, "pygmy book."

"Well, perhaps," she yanks it from his grip, "you should refrain from conversation if you don't like my responses."

Silence.

He decides to talk again when she flips the page.

"You know what else I hate?"

"No."

He ignores the irritation in her voice. "This music."

Her lips make a squeaking sound as she sucks air into her mouth and grits her teeth.

"I mean, _why_ play elevator music? Why not something more bouncy?"

"We're not in an elevator, and I suspect it's to somehow 'calm' those that must sit here."

"Elevator music doesn't just play inside the elevator, Bones. It's a genre."

She looks up, "It is not a genre; the songs just happen to all have similar, and admittedly monotonous, characteristics."

"Well, genre or not, it isn't calming. I'm _already_ calm."

She looks back down at her book. "You sound calm to me."

He glares at her.

She pulls a pencil from her purse and underlines something.

Silence.

That damn music is driving him crazy.

"You know what else I hate?"

"No, but I'm sure I don't care."

He ignores that, "These lamps." He gestures to them. "They're yellow."

"So is your tie."

Once again, he pretends not to hear her. "I mean, they're yellow with, you know, thin necks and big, fat stomachs."

"Lamps do not possess organs."

"My point holds."

"According to whom?"

"Me. Alright? Me."

"Uh huh." She exhales.

Silence.

Brennan pulls a pad from her purse and peels off a bright, yellow tab, which she presses smoothly into the book.

"Why is everything yellow today?" he asks.

"Would you care to look down at your chest and tell me what color your tie is?"

"It's gold."

She rolls her eyes.

"Gold, alright? Gold. Not yellow, not, you know, mustard or chrome or frigging yellow submarine. Gold."

"Okay. Alright." She holds up her hands. "It's not yellow."

"Thanks."

Silence.

"Dr. Sweets will see you now," the friendly African American receptionist says, poking her head in from around the corner and flashing them a smile, which both partners meet with a scowl.

She disappears as another agitated looking person walks past.

They get up and head for the door.

"Tie's yellow," Brennan says, turning the knob.

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, my favorite slightly-dysfunctional-mostly-neurotic pair!"

"Get you for this later, Bones," the agent growls in her ear.

She smirks at him, "Yeah, I don't think so."

--

Please keep up the feedback! They make my day!

:)


	4. Waiting Room II

Brennan's behavior is based heavily on personal experience in the matter. Not that I've ever been quite that extreme, but I've been close and this is what _I_ acted like...

Oh, and I'm basing the "waiting room" after the one in the Couple's Counseling extras. Just in case you want a visual.

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

IV

"Booth?"

"What?"

"Did you ever actually look at any of these inkblots on the wall?"

"No. I mean, yeah, maybe I glanced at 'em, but not really."

"They're kind of neat."

He glances up to see her on the coffeetable—which, instead of a flat surface, has couch cushions—with knees folded and hands curled in her lap as she cranes upward to stare at the paintings above his head.

"Yeah. I guess."

She cocks her head a little. "The center blot looks like a skull, almost like a CT scan image, and those dots are the eyes." She points. "Those streaks on the side look like shotguns. Really," she inhales, "really small shotguns."

"Bones?"

"Hm?" she looks at him. Her pupils seem fuzzed out.

"Don't tell Sweets about that."

"Why?"

"Because he'll think you're psychotic."

"But I'm not psychotic. I would say that's a natural response considering my line of work."

"Right." He returns his attention to his book, which he has finally remembered to bring. Figures the one time he remembers, _she's_ not interested in reading.

"And that one on the left. The one on top looks like a butterfly. Those two things under it almost look like axes in a piece of wood. But I'm not sure what those two floating dots are about."

"Thoughts inside head, Bones?"

"Why? I have to listen to you talk to yourself all the time about theories and postulates and," she finger quotes, " 'positing scenarios.' "

He sighs.

"So what if I want to tell you what I see in those inkblots."

"You don't even _like_ psychology."

"But...I need something to amuse myself. To pass the time."

"Where's your pygmy book?"

"On the Mbuti Pygmies? Oh, I finished that last week."

"Don't you have another book?"

"Yes, but I was actually planning on going home when Sweets called to remind me about the appointment, and I really didn't want to drive all the way back to the lab and I would end up driving by anyway to go home and I decided I could probably last another hour and a half to two until I completely collapse so I just came here instead."

"Collapse?" he looks up at her. "Bones, when was the last time you slept?"

"Um..." her voice trails off and her eyes flick away as she thinks. Her lips move a little. "It's been almost forty-nine hours, actually." She pauses. "Didn't realize it was really that long."

His eyebrows arch.

"I assume you want to know why, but I think it was because of all that coffee I had yesterday, or the day before yesterday, and then Goodman called from the main museum to say there was something interesting coming in, and Cam had the paperwork, and all of those bones came in from midcentury—"

"Bones," he interrupted. "Forty-nine hours?"

"Well, I just wasn't tired so I decided to work on those bones, and then there was all that paperwork to complete from Limbo and I had to nag Angela, Hodgins, and Zack about it, because they never do it if I don't, and then I remembered I had all of those reports left from finals to grade and somehow I ended up in my filing cabinet after that and realized how many things I've been keeping, so I started throwing things out. That required finding the shredder, because apparently there's only one in the entire Jeffersonian, and Cam usually has it, but when she looked for it wasn't there so Zack and I ended up going up to the D building and looking for it, and then I gave up and just went and bought one, but security had to check it out, and by then Hodgins called to say he'd found it in building F, so I left the one I bought with Cam and then I finally got to shred all of those old interdepartmental memos." She inhales. "I had things that dated back to 2006. It was a good thing I did it, actually, because I found—"

"Bones," he interrupts.

"What?" Her eyes are definitely fuzzed over.

"You're overtired. You shouldn't even be driving."

"Well, I know that sleep deprivation can generally be akin to a .05 blood alcohol level or more, but sometimes I just forget to sleep and I tried to take a nap on the couch for a moment, but then my pager went off because Cam needed help containing Hodgins and Zack, who were going to blow something up to celebrate the close of the week."

"So that's what you've been doing?"

"Yeah. What have you been doing?"

"Well," he shifted. "Finished up most of my paperwork on Thursday, and then I took a personal day on Friday."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He shifts. He should tell her to just blow off the appointment and he'll drive her home because she's starting to act like she did when she had inhaled all that meth a few years ago, but he's afraid of all possible repercussions. Last time they'd blown it off, Sweets had made them wear _hats_. Hats and weird clothes that smelled like the reject pile in a thrift store.

And, besides, the last time she'd pulled one her all-nighters, she'd fallen asleep in his car and no amount of jostling could've woken her up. He'd had to call Angela for assistance with getting the anthropologist back up to her third floor apartment, where she'd slept for the next day, and god knows he didn't need a repeat of that incidence.

She's been silent as he thinks, and when he glances back at her she's staring at the wall to the left.

"You know," she says suddenly, "that inkblot sort of looks like the head of a fly. _Calliphoridae._ Blow fly."

"That's nice, Bones."

"What do you think they look like?"

"Butterflies. Butterflies and bones and, you know, axes and flies."

Her eyebrows crinkle. "But you didn't even look."

He glances back. "Fine. They look like butterflies. Moths. Happy?"

"No." She's staring at him now, her eyes fuzzy.

Jeez. She's completely wasted. "Fine." He turns around and pretends to stare real hard, all the while watching her out of the corner of his eye and wondering when she is going to give in to her obviously taxed brain's requests for rest.

"I see an antelope with a rock on his head," he says.

She starts giggling.

He shifts uncomfortably.

She continues giggling, a sound which she doesn't seem to have much control over.

"Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asks, suddenly appearing from around the corner, an action that apparently triggers her to move into fits.

"She's overtired," Booth explains as his partner rocks a foot away.

"An antelope," she chokes, "with a rock on his head!"

"Really overtired."

Both men stare at her.

"Perhaps we should reschedule," Sweets suggests as the anthropologist abruptly sucks in breath, fingernails digging into cushions as she carefully begins the job of inhaling and exhaling.

"Yeah," Booth says, rising. "That'd be a good idea."

She's giggling again as he helps her up and leads her from the waiting room, and all the while Sweets is gaping like a man who has taken a pan to the head.


	5. Session III

Tails...I went almost forty hours without sleep. That's hell. :P (sorry for not just replying directly; my reply option seems to be frozen)

Anyway...

I didn't proof, so I apologize in advance...

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

V

"Today we are going to attempt to explain your relationship and views of each other pictorially, using animate objects as the mode of conferral."

Pads of paper are passed over the coffeetable.

"What?"

"Sweets means we are going to draw pictures to express our opinions of each other."

"So, what, we're drawing fuzzy bunnies?"

"If you view me as a bunny, Booth."

"Do you?"

"No, Sweets, I don't view Bones as a bunny."

"Good. I don't view you as a bunny either."

"Then what do you—"

Throat clearing. "In order for this exercise to work—"

"Work?"

He ignores her, "...you two must not speak until you're done."

"Why?"

"I assume because he doesn't want us influencing each other."

"You know, Dr. Brennan, for how much you hate psychology—"

"Make no mistake, that was merely a logical deduction. Which is, really, the basis of psychology. So you may be right."

Silence.

"I think you hurt his feelings, Bones."

Shrug. "If he cannot take that, he is in the wrong field."

"Ooh."

"Moving on. Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, please turn your backs to each other and draw."

"The arts are not among my strong suits."

"Same with me."

Exhalation. "Guys, humor me."

"You know, we've been humoring you a lot lately. Don't you think so, Bones?"

"Yes. At least, it seems like a lot from my point of view."

"Then humor me one more time. Please."

Silence.

The partners exchange a look.

Seconds tick by.

"Yeah. Alright, Sweets, I'll draw you a bunny."

"I thought you said you didn't think of me as a bunny."

"I don't. I was just...nevermind."

Pause.

"Okay."

Shifting as both move back-to-back, pressing pads on the arms. Booth's feet land on the coffeetable again, whilst Brennan's curl underneath her.

Pause.

Brennan's pencil begins moving.

Booth's quickly follows.

Underneath the sounds of their scribbling is the light.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz...

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz...

Zzzzzz...

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

"Ugh."

"Please don't talk, Agent Booth."

"That light is driving me crazy."

"It is rather annoying." Brennan's voice is distracted. She hasn't looked up.

"Please put it out of your minds."

"Sweets, it's been weeks. Just change the damn thing already. Or maybe it's some psychological torture devise meant to turn our brains to pudding."

"Brain matter can only really reach the consistency of pudding if it's been boiled."

Pregnant pause as the men digest that.

"Ugh. That's gross."

"Nasty." Shifting from across the table.

"You brought it up."

Brief pause.

"Please, just ignore it. I'll have it changed after the session."

"Mean it?"

"Totally."

"That doesn't sound like a promising response."

"Dr. Brennan, I _promise_ I will get the light changed."

Nod.

The agent shifts, "Good."

"Alright? Can we go back to our illustrations now?"

Silence.

"Fine."

Brennan hasn't broken form once. She says nothing.

Silence.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Zzzzzz...

"Irritating."

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Zzzzz...

Brennan flips her paper and begins drawing on the other side.

"You can use as many pieces as you want."

"No. I'm alright."

"Okay."

Silence.

Scritching.

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz. Buzz...

Buzz.

Buzz...

The light flickers for a moment, then returns to its original brightness.

The noisy silence continues, and long minutes tick by.

Sweets watches.

It's almost as if the wall clock is ticking out the time.

_Tick._ One. _Tick. _Two. _Tick. _Thirty._ Tick_. Six hundred._ Tick._ Ten thousand. _Tick_. Good god, this would go on forever.

Buzz.

Finally Brennan hesitates, then shoves her bangs behind her ears and straightens, holding the drawing pad to her chest.

"Finished?"

"Yes."

"Can I look?"

She ignores his outstretched hand. "Not until Booth is done with his."

Sigh.

The psychologist sits back to wait.

_Tick._ One. _Tick._ Two. _Tick._ Three. _Tick. _Eight hundred. _Tick_. Ten million._ Tick._ Eight billion. _Tick_. A trillian point five. _Tick._ Why point five? _Tick._ Who cares? _Tick._ Good point.

Finally, "Done."

The partners eye each other.

"Now exchange pads and explain."

They pause, then do so.

Long pause.

"Is this a dog?"

"Yes."

"Why am I a dog, Bones?"

"Well..." Pause. "You're loyal. And you can read subtle kinesthetic and physical clues."

"Dogs can read body language?"

"Well, yes. When I was younger, my parents had a dog named Duke, and, admittedly, he wasn't the smartest dog I've ever met, but he _always_ knew when he was going to be fed and who would be feeding him, even though the person who did that was usually the one who lost at cards or was otherwise doing grunge work. I'm still not sure _how_ he knew, but he would follow that person around the house for awhile before we actually grabbed the dog food. And he was always at the dinner table just before we set down the food."

"So you're saying I'm obsessed with food?"

"Sometimes you can be. But, no, in this case it was analogous to the fact that you pick up on things, sometimes even before they happen."

"Aww. Thanks, Bones."

Smiles.

Brennan looks back down at his drawing her eyebrows crinkle. "Why did you draw a rabbit and then cross it out and point to a cat?"

Laugh.

Snort from Sweets.

Both ignore that.

"It is a cat, right?"

"Yes, Bones, it's a cat."

"Why?"

"Well, my grandfather, he had a cat. And she was one of those touchy types, and sometimes she wanted to be petted, but only sometimes, and if you tried when she wasn't in the mood she'd bite you or, you know, scratch you. But sometimes she could really be, you know...sweet." Pause. "She was real smart too. She'd eat that canned crap, but if my grandfather made fish, she'd always hover the whole time and wouldn't touch her cat food unless you put in the good stuff. And if you were in a bad mood, she'd be her normal self for awhile, but when you spoke to her, it was like she knew from how you talked to her that you weren't in the mood so she'd be nicer."

"Oh."

Awkward pause.

"You're saying I'm like this cat?"

"Yeah."

Shifting. "What was her name?"

Shifting. "Frances."

Pause. "Nice name."

"Yeah."

Awkward pause.

"But why is there a rabbit?"

Laugh. "Because, Bones, I was saying you're not a bunny."

Pause. "Oh."

Snort.

"Well, looks like the shift's over," Booth says suddenly.

"What?"

Brennan looks. "Huh. It's over. Didn't realize it would take so long to draw a dog."

"Didn't realize it would take so long to draw a cat."

"Wha—"

"And a rabbit," Brennan ignores Sweets.

"And a rabbit." Grin. "Come on, Bones, I believe it's time for a late-night slice of pie."

Groan. "Booth, I don't _want_ pie."

"Well, I guess I could always get you some fish and mix it with the kitty chow."

"I could just as easily purchase you some dog food."

"Touché, Bones. Touché."

Smiles.

"Guys?"

They both leave the office.

Sweets leans back in his chair, then sighs.

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Tick.

Tick.

Buzz.

Tick.

Buzz.

He reaches for the two drawings, which have ended up on the coffeetable. He smiles at Booth's many-times-erased cat, and laughs at the skeleton that erase marks had not entirely gotten rid of in Brennan's dog. Then he flips the pages and scowls.

Both partners had drawn the same image, though it wasn't obvious from how different the two were in style. Nonetheless, he recognized the tail and the horns.

Brennan's had a note.

_Obviously, analogous. And though I don't actually believe in it, sometimes you tempt me to change my mind._

_--_

By the way, this is the first "fic" that I'm writing as I post, so, for once, any suggestions can mean new ideas.

:)


	6. Waiting Room III

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

VI

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"This just isn't right."

"What? That we had to pack up our dinner to come here?"

"Yeah."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"You know, we could just ditch now."

Her nose wrinkles. "I always hated the concept of skipping out on class."

"Yeah, but this isn't class, it's mandatory therapy that we didn't even volunteer for."

"True."

He says nothing while she thinks.

"But the last time we left without canceling our appointment he made me wear that old, smelly hat."

"Bones, we _can't_ cancel our appointments. We didn't _make_ the appointments. That's why we're not at dinner right now."

"Well, we were at dinner until we got the call."

"Yeah. And now," he waggles the brown doggy-bag on his lap, "I didn't get to finish my mac and cheese_ or_ have my pie."

"And I didn't get to finish my sandwich, nor order that chocolate mousse."

"Why didn't you order it to-go?"

"Well, I thought about it, but..."

"What?"

"I don't know. Just didn't seem necessary, is all."

"Dessert isn't necessary. It's indulgence."

"I know."

He smirks. "Living up to your name?"

"What?"

"Temperance," he says, "Temperance Temperance."

Her eyebrows scrunch. "You know what my name means?"

"Of course I do, Bones. It's one of the virtues. And, besides, you know, I was looking through a dictionary and your name was on the top, so I read it."

"Temperance usually refers to abstaining from alcohol, and that wasn't my name you read, it was simply the _definition_ of my name."

"Yeah, I know, Bones." Exhalation.

Silence.

"Why were you looking through a dictionary?"

"Because believe it or not there actually _are_ words I don't know the meaning of."

"I can believe it."

Pause. "Anyway, Parker, wanted to know what an entomologist was, so I told him, but he wanted to see the dictionary entry."

"Where did he hear about entomology?"

"I was on the phone with that agent a few offices down from mine and told him that Hodgins had given the time of death info, not me."

"Oh."

Pause.

"You know what? That's it. I'm going to eat the rest of my mac and cheese while we're waiting." He unwraps the bag and takes out a styrofoam container, which he sets on the padding coffeetable.

"Watch that," he says, and then he gets up and walks out.

Silence.

Brennan shrugs to herself and reaches for the bag, and she pulls out the other container. Inside is her veggie sandwich, and she begins munching on it, pulling two napkins from her purse and setting one on her lap and the other on top of Booth's pasta.

Booth comes back, and he has a fork and spoon. He grabs his container as he sits down, pulling it to him with a grunt.

"That's the good stuff," he says.

Wordlessly, Brennan plunks the napkin onto his lap and leans back to continue eating, crossing her legs. Beside her, Booth unwraps the napkin and spreads it out over his legs before tucking into his pasta.

"Still warm?" she asks.

"Yep."

Pause.

"Bread soggy?"

"Nope." She eats a bit of lettuce.

Silence for a bit.

"Why do we keep coming in early if we're just going to wait?"

"Dunno," Brennan's words are garbled through her sandwich.

"Why does he call us in early if he's just gonna make us wait?"

"Again, don't know."

"Maybe we should've just continued eating."

"Probably would've been wiser."

"We could've."

"But we didn't."

"Yeah. I know."

"Then why'd you say it?"

"I don't know. Alternate scenario."

"Ultimately we'd still end up here."

"Yeah, but at least right _now_ we'd still be in the restaurant."

"It was better ventilated."

"Better ventilated? Bones, not only did it not have the temperature of the inside of a refrigerator, but it didn't smell so..." Pause. "It isn't just me, right?"

"No." She wrinkles her nose. "It definitely smells like stale perfume and a lot of sweat."

"Ugh." He shifts, "Not while I'm eating."

"You brought it up."

"Yeah, but I was just asking a yes or no question."

"I don't do yes or no questions."

"I know you don't."

"So why did you assume I'd answer yes or no?"

"I didn't alright? Jeez, I didn't even think about it. It was almost rhetorical."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence.

She crumples her container and licks off her fingers before wiping them on the napkin and tossing them both into the trash can.

Both make it in.

She ignores her success. "I'm full now."

"Mm," he tries to get the rest of the creamy cheese on the container.

"I'm glad I didn't get the mousse."

"Good. Then, you know, I'm glad too." He sucks the spoon and fork clean and shoves them into the container before shutting it. As he aims to throw it, the friendly receptionist pokes her head in.

"Dr. Sweets will see you now," she says.

The container flies and smacks into the wall slightly above the trash. It pops open and lands on the ground, but the fork manages to make it into the bin while the spoon bounces off the lid and skids across the floor.

The friendly receptionist's friendly receptionist smile doesn't so much as twitch as she disappears from around the corner.

"I would've made that," Booth says as Brennan gets up.

She balls the paper bag and tosses it. It lands inside the trash with a _thwump_.

"Uh huh."

"I would. Today's just an off-day."

She picks up the spoon and the container and drops it in, then begins down the hall in the direction of the friendly receptionist. "I'm sure."

"I thought you didn't do sarcasm, Bones," he says as she opens the door to Sweets' office.

"Guess it's an off day for me as well," she says and then steps inside.

--

Leave a review on your way out...


	7. Waiting Room IV

And now a little session, written here. No edits, no Word/Open Office document, no transferring, no saving, while I wait for Conan to grace my screen with his presence.

--

Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word

VII

--

Ping.

Pause.

Shift.

Crinkle.

Ping!

Ping!

Ping!

_Thump._

Pause.

Shift.

Crinkle.

Ping!

Ping!

Shift.

Movement to the left.

"Ow!"

Silence.

"What was that for?"

Whisper of the page turning.

"Bones?"

No reply.

"Bones?"

Silence.

Sigh.

Shift.

Pause.

Tear.

Crinkle.

Ping!

Ping!

Movement.

"Ow!"

"You'd think the first time would've given the indication that that was irritating me."

"Hey! You didn't warn me or tell me anything. What am I supposed to do? Read your mind?"

"No, but, again, I would assume with your vast knowledge on subtle changes in body language that you would've noticed that I was getting more and more tense with each crumpled piece of paper that you threw into the trash bin."

"They're paper balls, and I needed you to know that, you know..."

"What?"

"That, you know, I'm a good shot."

"You're not shooting anything."

"I mean making baskets."

Crinkled eyebrows. "Wicker baskets?"

"No, Bones. Baskets. Like basketball."

Pause. "But...that's a trash can, Booth, not a basketball hoop, and those are crumpled pieces of paper, not balls."

"They're ball-shaped."

"My point holds."

"No it doesn't. The point is that I can get one of these--" Ping! "Into a bin or a hoo--"

Smack!

"I told you that was irritating me."

He rubs his arm. "Ow. Jeez, Bones, you're so _touchy_."

"Because you are annoying."

"Hey, you think it's any more fun sitting with you?"

"What am I doing?"

"You're just sitting there," he gestures at her, "reading."

"And?"

"We're not talking, and you don't even look up if I say anything."

"I'm looking at you now."

"You know what I mean."

Pause. "Well, maybe if you kept my attention better, I wouldn't have to read to keep myself occupied."

"Hey, Bones, I can't make all the effort here, and the second I start throwing these ball-things into the baskets, you start hitting me."

"That's because what you're doing is annoying."

"Well, what you're doing is boring."

"I'm finding it quite satisfying, actually."

He lifts up her bookcover. "_Gender Through a Cross-Cultural Perspective_?"

Shrug. "It's interesting."

Eye-roll. Exhalation.

"You really should read more, Booth. It helps to pass the time as we wait."

"The one time I brought a book, _you_ were higher than the sky."

Eyebrow crinkle. "What?"

"Overtired, Bones, you weren't in your right mind."

Pause. "Well, that happened once, and, statistically, you've been more the irritatant than me when we've been waiting."

"What? You think I'm annoying?"

"Haven't I already told you that you were annoying me earlier?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"What?"

"Nothing. You're right. I should just bring a book."

Pause.

Sigh.

Exhalation.

He reaches for a magazine and begins flipping through it.

She eyes him.

Silence.

He flips a page.

She puts down her book.

"Give me one of those pieces of paper."

"What?"

"I'm fairly certain I can get the paper ball in in one shot."

He glances at the small paper balls littering the floor around the trash can.

"Cannot, Bones."

"I can."

"Can't."

"Can."

"Fine." He rips off a piece of paper and hands it to her. "Here you go."

She smiles and quickly crumples it. Taking careful aim, she lets it fly...

"Ha. It's on the floor."

Irritated exhalation. "Give me another."

"I thought you said this was annoying."

"Yeah, but now I'm doing it too."

"I don't know, Bones, what if I want to read now?"

Glare.

Smirk.

Icy glare.

"Fine. Here." He hands her the sheet of paper.

She smiles and tears off a corner.

"Best two out of three."

"How do you even know that term?"

"I'm not _that_ inept, Booth."

"Sure, sure."

Pause.

Ping!

"Best three out of four."

"If you keep doing this, we'll never be able to make it to our appointment."

"And I'm sure..." Ping! "That this would disappoint you?"

Pause. "Hand me that sheet of paper."

She does.

Tear. Crinkle. Ping!

The paper bounces off the wall and rolls into the Friendly Receptionist's area, out of sight.

"Best two out of three, Bones."

"Hm." Ping! "Alright."

Ping!

Ping!

Ping!

--

And now for Conan...

Not stopping to edit or anything...


	8. Waiting Room V

Not quite sure where this came from... Just started to write. Wrote the first word and went where it took me.

I guess this is my birthday gift to you all. Today I am one year older, and back to even with a new laptop. Happy birthday to me.

Enjoy...or something. :)

--

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

VIII

--

Exhale.

"Bones?"

"What?"

Shifting. "Ever feel like this waiting period is part of his psychoanalysis?"

"Not really." Page flip.

Pause.

Shifting. "Well, I do."

"Mm."

Finger tapping. "Maybe there are cameras hidden along the walls or the doors." He points.

Not a glance up. "This is a room in an FBI building. It wouldn't surprise me if there were."

"Who said anything about being surprised?"

"No one. I guess I just inferred from your question that that would be the correct response."

"Inferred?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that the same as assuming?"

Glance up. Eyebrow crinkle. "In a sense."

Snort.

"What?"

"You know what they say..."

"I don't know what they say."

"...when you assume, you make an ass out of yo—"

"I could probably respond by saying something along the lines of 'Look who's talking,' but I guess that could be misconstrued as childlike."

Another snort. "Misconstrued..."

Eye roll. "You know, maybe Sweets is observing us. I'm sure it would provide hours of meaningless conversation for his research."

More shifting. "I don't know if I like that a twelve year-old is getting his rocks off watching us talk."

She levels a finger at him. "I think I know what that means now. It's another way of saying he's using it as mastur—"

Groan. "Bones, for the love of all that is holy, don't finish that sentence."

Pause. "Why?"

"First, because it's a bad image. Second, it just didn't need stating. And third, you just don't talk about stuff like that in public." Glance around.

Her eyes follow his. "Why?"

"Because it gives _everyone_ a bad image in their heads."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"But this isn't public. It's just you and I." Pause. "And Sweets, I guess, if he's listening."

"I'm sure he stopped by now if he is."

"Well, then you should consider that a bonus."

"A bonus?"

"Yeah. You don't want him listening to us, so it follows that if he no longer wants to listen to us and the reason we have to wait around so much is because he wants to listen, then we won't have to wait anymore."

Pause. "Yeah, but by now he'd have come out to tell us he's ready if there's no reason for us to be waiting anymore."

"Maybe not." She shrugs. "Maybe he just wants us to steam."

"Stew."

"Stew."

Snort. "That's pretty cynical coming from you."

"I wasn't under the impression that my actions suggested I was optimistic to begin with. In fact, I would say my outlook is more pessimistic than not."

"Okay. I guess it wasn't surprising that you would say that."

Pause. "Why?"

"I was agreeing with you."

"Oh." Pause. "You seem a little agitated."

Shift. "Bones, we're arguing in circles."

"Metaphorically, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I was just making sure."

"Glad you were." Pained smile.

"Well, if I'm making you agitated, Booth, I could always go back to my reading."

"No. It's alright."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. And hopefully we won't have to wait that much longer anyway."

"How do you know?"

"Well, by now Sweets must've stopped listening to us."

"So now we're working off the assumption that he is listening to us?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Nod. "But we're still waiting now. We should have to do something while we wait."

"Why?"

"Well, you're always trying to find something to do while we're waiting."

"That's because when you wait you have to have something to occupy yourself with."

"I see." Pause. "So you never just...sit, relax?"

"You're talking to me about relaxing?"

"Well, I never said that I relax. I was just asking you."

Shift. "Yeah, I relax."

"Didn't you tell me that you relax by fixing up...what do you call it? Clunkers?"

"Yeah. Clunkers."

"Those are broken-down cars unfit for further use, right?"

"Not unfit! Just...fallen into disrepair."

"I see."

"Yeah."

"Doesn't that mean essentially the same thing?"

"No. I mean, I can fix 'em up, make 'em drive real smooth." His hands go into steering wheel position. "Vroom, vroom." Smile. "Real sweet cars."

"You mean nice looking?"

"Yeah. Classic."

"I see."

He leans back. "What do you do to relax?"

She shrugs. "Sometimes word games. Sometimes I like to cook, take a bath...go outside on my balcony if it's not too hot and just look at the city."

He smiles. "Sounds nice."

"It is nice."

"You don't work all the time, do you, Bones? I mean, when I don't come in and drag you out to, you know, eat or have a beer... You go home?"

Shrug. "Usually. But there's nothing really anchoring me there. Just...stuff." Glance into his eyes, "You understand?"

"Yeah." Nod.

Pause.

"Don't you ever get, I don't know—lonely?"

"Sometimes." Shrug. "Don't you?"

"Yeah." Shifting.

"So I guess it makes sense that we spend as much time together as we do."

He exhales. "It does?"

"Yes. We're both lonely sometimes, often don't have ties to our homes—nothing to keep us there. It's perfectly reasonable that we'd want to spend time together instead of apart. After all, the need for social bonds extends far back into our ancestry."

"Nothing but the, uh, biological imperative."

Small smile. "I guess you could say that."

Mirrored smile. "Or I guess you could just say nobody likes to be alone."

"Yes." Nod.

Long pause.

"Dr. Sweets is ready to see you." Friendly Receptionist breaks it. She's smiling again.

"Uh." Throat clear. "Okay." He gets up and she leaves.

Brennan does the same.

"I guess we didn't have to wait too much longer after all," she says.

"Nope." Smile. "Just don't tell Sweets any of what we just said."

"Why?"

"You know the drill, Bones. We play the game in there, and when we leave we have the real talks."

"I believe I know what game you're talking about."

"Good. Then we're on the same page." Smile.

She stops, hand on the door. "Do we ask him if he's spying on us?"

"Only if I give the signal."

"What's the signal?"

"Him looking uncomfortable when we walk into the room."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The door opens and they slide inside.


	9. Waiting Room VI

–

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

IX

–

Foot tapping.

"You know, I'm really getting sick of this whole psychoanalysis torture thing."

"I thought we had decided that he really wasn't observing us while we wait."

Pause. "I don't care. There's no way whatever he's doing in there is more important than us waiting week in and week out and week in and, you know, week out again."

"I see." Quiet munching.

"What are you eating over there, Bones?"

Crinkling. "Banana chips."

Nose wrinkle. "What's with you and the rabbit food?"

"I'm vegetarian, and although these aren't exactly healthy, they're not unhealthy either. Unlike your fries and your chips and your pie."

"You _eat_ my fries and my chips and you would eat my pie if you gave it a chance."

"You can't know that for certain."

"Yeah, but that still leaves us with the fact that you eat my chips and my fries."

"Well, I don't order them or buy them."

"But you still eat half of them."

Shrug. "You should do a better job of dodging me."

Scoff. "So now it's my fault?"

Nod. "Yes."

Munch. Munch. Munch.

"You know, what if I steal one of those?"

"You just called it rabbit food."

"Yeah, but so is carrots and I still eat those."

Eyebrow twitch. "When was the last time you ate a carrot, Booth?"

Pause.

"My point exactly." Dryly.

Silence.

"I eat fruit."

"I have never seen you order a fruit plate in our three years of partnership."

"Who says I don't eat it at home?"

"Because I've been to your home and looked through your refrigerator. Had there been fruit, I would've eaten some."

"What about grapes? Parker likes grapes. Sometimes I have those."

"Not for yourself?"

"I'll eat them too." Defensive.

"Alright. No need to get snippy."

Snort. "Snippy?"

Nod. Munch. "You were being snippy."

"Was not."

"You were. You think I don't recognize snippy when I hear it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" Eyebrow lift.

"No."

Smirk. "I thought so."

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Crinkle.

"You know, pie has fruit."

"Fruit that's been mixed with butter and sugar and other things."

"It's still fruit."

"Yes, it's still fruit."

"So, I _do_ eat fruit."

"No, you eat pie. No medical doctor would ever deem pie a healthy alternative to raw or lightly cooked fruit."

"Who's to say there aren't pieologists who study pie and think it's god's food?"

"Pieologists?" Definite eyebrow arch.

Awkward pause.

"And I thought you said macaroni and cheese was 'god's food.' "

"Well, that is too."

"I see."

Pause.

Crinkle.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Crinkle.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

"Bones?"

"What?"

"Can I have one of those?"

Pause. "You called them rabbit food before."

"Well, it is, but you're making me hungry."

"Why should I?"

"Because I asked you."

Wary. "Try one. If you like it, I'll give you more."

Scoff. "You sound like a mother with a finicky toddler."

"Who's to say you don't remind me of a finicky toddler?"

Crinkle. "How many finicky toddlers have you been around, Bones?"

"Some." She reclaims her bag. "Enough."

Munch. Munch. Munch.

"You like it?"

Pause. "It tastes like hard styrofoam."

"That's why I only gave you one."

Grunt.

Shrug. Crinkle.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

"Can't believe you like that stuff."

Another shrug. "It's tasty."

Snort.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Crinkle.

Pause.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing."

Eyebrow crinkle.

Pause.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

"Bones..."

"What?"

"Can I have another one?"

"You just said they tasted like hard styrofoam."

"Yeah, but I'm hungry."

"Why would I give you more if you're mocking me?"

"I'm not mocking you. I'm just being, you know, honest."

Look. "And you wonder why I don't want to give you anymore?"

"I don't wonder. I know. I just don't want you to care."

"Well, I do care."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"'Cause we're talking about banana chips."

"And if I were to start being 'honest' about your pie, you wouldn't get irritated?"

"Bones, you _do_ get 'honest' about my pie."

"And you get irritated. Thus, you are not one to talk."

"So if we're both on equal ground, why won't you give me some of your banana chips?"

"Because I already gave you one and you didn't like it."

"Well, what if I need another taste?"

"You don't need another taste."

"What if I want one?"

"I don't really care."

"But I'm hungry."

"Then you should've brought something for yourself to eat instead of mooching off me."

"You're one to talk about mooching!"

"I offer to pay for my half of the check and if you didn't rip it from my hands quite so often I would be paying my share. Don't even know why you insist on paying anyway, considering I am in a better place financia—"

"Because it's common courtesy, and that's that. Besides, even if we split the check, you always eat my food."

"I offer you some of mine."

"But it's rabbit food."

"See? Now you're saying it's rabbit food again."

"Well, it is. I want some steak and, you know, some mashed potatoes or chicken or pork or—"

"Heart disease." Muttered.

"My heart is just fine, thank you very much."

"Yeah, for now, until you keel over and die."

"You'd die of starvation if it wasn't for me."

"And you'd be overweight if I didn't eat some of your food."

"I work out. I'm not getting overweight."

"Maybe not now, but in a few years..." Pointed glance at midsection.

Pause. "That's just mean, Bones."

"Maybe you should consider cutting back on meats and replacing them with vegetables."

"You know, you eat just as many doughnuts as I do."

"Yes, but then I go to the gym or the dojo and I go home and eat something healthier."

"You know, you barely have anything worth eating in your fridge. Last time I was in there, your cream cheese looked like something that could apply to become its own species."

"Obviously, I had nothing to eat with the cream cheese, so it unfortunately went to waste."

"You just have an answer for everything."

"As you once noted, I like to get the last word."

Pause. Grunt.

"Such as now." Smirk.

Eye roll. "You know, if Sweets is watching us, I bet that little yellow pad of his is filled with notes."

"Meaningless psychobabble."

"You have a neurosis on the subject."

Shrug. "In my eyes, it does not deserve to be deemed a science."

"Doesn't mean you don't have a neurosis."

"Differing interpretations." Off-hand.

"As Sweets would say..." Assuming voice _a la_ Sweets, "You're deflecting, Dr. Brennan."

"You're being obnoxious."

Pause becomes silence.

Crinkle.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Crinkle.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Crinkle.

"Hello," Friendly Receptionist pops in. Her Friendly Receptionist smile is plastered onto her face in all its plastic glory.

"Alright." Both partners look at her.

She disappears.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Pause.

"I feel like we should make him wait."

"Can't, Bones. He'll make us wear hats again."

"I will _refuse_ to wear them."

"And he'll do something sadistic. Come on." He rises. Pulls on her sleeve.

She gets up.

Munch. Munch.

Shove bag into jacket pocket.

Pause.

"You don't really think I mooch, do you, Booth?"

"No. I was kidding."

"Oh."

"You don't really think I'm obnoxious?"

Head shake. "Not often."

"Well, that's reassuring."

"It's the truth."

"Eh."

"And I know what you're going to say."

"What's that?"

"Don't tell Sweets any of what we just said."

Levels a finger at her while opening the door. "You got it, Bones."

"Got what?" Voice from inside.

"Psychology is psychobabblery." Booth.

"And pie is delicious." Brennan.

"And you call yourself a psychologist, Sweets."

"We probably don't even need him, do we?"

"Not really, Bones. Not really."

The door shuts behind them.


	10. Waiting Room VII

Throat clearing.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just something caught in my throat."

More throat clearing.

"You alright over there, Bones?"

"Fine."

"You're not getting sick on me are you?"

"No."

Shifting.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you moving over there?"

"I just want some more space. A bit of, you know, breathing room."

Pause. "So just now you want breathing room?"

Uncomfortable shifting. "Yeah."

"Only right after I cleared my throat?"

"Mm."

"You're moving farther away because you think I'm sick and you don't want to risk catching whatever it is that I have."

"Ah, so you admit you're sick."

"I don't know if I'm sick. I was just clearing my throat."

"Come on, the great Dr. Brennan doesn't know if she's getting something?"

"I'm a PhD, Booth, not an MD."

"My point holds, Bones. Who was the one who announced I had flu to the whole squint squad a few months ago? Who was the one who looked at my bum tooth last year and told me what was wrong? You."

"First of all, it was obvious you had the flu, and second of all as a forensic anthropologist I have to know some odontology, so I could look at your tooth and tell you what was wrong with reasonable certainty."

"So you can't tell if you're sick?"

"It's too early for me to know."

"Yeah, right. Everybody knows when they're coming down with something. Especially doctors."

Teeth grit. "Fine. I feel a little...off."

"Off?"

"Yes. Not quite myself. There's a heaviness in my chest that I associate with early signs of upper respiratory problems."

"Do me a favor and sit over there then."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm your partner and we work together and likely if I am contagious you've already been exposed enough for our proximity right now to be a moot issue."

"You were _willfully _exposing me to whatever you've got?"

"Well, when you phrase it like that—"

"You didn't even warn me?"

"I knew you'd start avoiding me, and I didn't know for sure that I was sick. I still don't."

"I don't care. What if you get over it but I'm down for a week?"

"Out of the two of us, I'm the only one displaying symptoms, and they are mild. If anything, _I_ am more likely to be out of commission for a week due to being sick, not you."

"Ugh. You know I hate being sick, Bones."

"And I take great pleasure in it?"

"I think I liked it better when you still thought sarcasm was unhelpful."

"I guess I just stooped to your level."

"That was low."

"Precisely my point."

Pause. "I'm moving over there."

"Then I'm moving with you."

"The whole point is to get farther away from you."

"Yes, and my point is that I will not allow you to move farther away just to satisfy your irrational fears over catching a disease I'm not even sure I have."

"A disease? Jeez, you make it sound like leprosy. I'm definitely moving."

Arm grab.

"Hey! This isn't fair. You can't keep me here."

"Yes I can."

"I have a gun."

"You wouldn't shoot me. Besides, I've flipped people over my shoulder twice your size."

"Yeah. You wouldn't flip me over either, Bones."

"Try me."

Glare.

"Fine." Sulky. "I won't move."

"Good."

Rustling.

Exhalation.

Page flip.

"You're _reading_?"

"What an astute observation."

"All that work to keep me here and now you're going to ignore me?"

"Well, not if you keep talking."

No reply.

"And, besides, it really wasn't that much work to keep you here. I just threatened you."

"I threatened you too."

"But we both know your threat is empty. You would never raise a gun to me."

"And you would raise your hands to me?"

"Technically I'd flip you with my whole body."

"We're not talking technicalities. You'd really do that to me, Bones?"

Pause. "I—couldn't really say."

"Seriously?"

Shifting. "Seriously, what?"

"You have to even think about it? You can't say 'no' automatically?"

"Well, I guess it just depends."

"On what?"

More shifting. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"But you'd be fine with slamming me to the floor?"

"I can't really imagine a scenario that would force me to, but...maybe."

"What?"

"If you didn't listen to reason."

"I'd listen to you."

"You don't always."

Pause. "You don't trust me."

"What? Where did you get that?"

"No. It's all coming together. When you asked if I'd ever betray you, when you always hesitate before telling me anything personal. You don't trust me."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. What about that trust fall he made us do?"

"It was mandatory. If you hadn't caught me, Sweets never would've let it go."

"You don't think I'd catch you on my own?"

"I think you would, but that exercise is much too simplistic. It's not really much of a test."

"Yeah, but it shows you trust me enough to stop you from falling. Come on." He gets up. "Let me catch you, Bones."

Irritated look.

"Please?"

"What if you drop me and I hit my head on something?"

"I'm not going to drop you."

"Just like you weren't going to drop my files?"

"You're still hung up on that. It's been two weeks."

"Yeah, and I spent an hour sorting them back together again."

"You wouldn't let me help."

"You probably would've just dropped them again and scattered them about even more."

"No I wouldn't. And, besides, we're not talking about papers, we're talking about you. I wouldn't let you fall."

Another irritated look.

"Come on, Bones. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I could injure myself. And I thought you didn't want to get near me because you think I'm contagious."

"Oh, so _now_ you want me to want to get far away from you?"

"Yes." Challenging smile.

"Well, maybe I'm coming around to your point of view. Maybe I've already been exposed enough that it doesn't matter."

"But maybe this one bit of contact will get you sick."

"I'll take my chances."

No reply.

"Come on." Slight pleading. "Please?"

"You just want to make yourself feel better by reassuring yourself that I trust you. What do I stand to gain?"

"Isn't it enough that you'll make me happy?"

Look.

"Or maybe that you'll have proof that you do trust me?"

"I want something more concrete."

Exasperated sigh. "Like what?"

Wolfish grin. "Your car keys."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You want to drive?"

"For the rest of the night."

Pause. Shifting. "Done."

"Truly?"

"Yes." Tosses car keys.

Catches. "You won't take it back?"

"No. Now you have to hold up your end of the bargain, Bones."

Exhale.

"Fine, give them back."

"No." Stands up. "This is silly."

"Yeah, but, you know, indulge me."

Turns around. Inhales.

Nothing.

"Come on."

Exhalation. "Fine."

Falls backward.

Catches her arms. Hikes her back up.

"See, you do trust me." Lingering touch.

"I just did it so I could drive."

"Even so, Bones."

"Whatever." Goes back to couch and sits.

No movement.

"Aren't you going to sit?"

"Um..."

"What?"

"I'm going to, uh, wash my hands."

Eye roll.

"I don't want to get sick, Bones."

"Fine. Go wash your hands if you truly think it will make any difference."

"What, did you do something as you fell?"

"Now who doesn't trust whom?"

"What did you do? Wipe your nose on my suit? Did you lick your hands or something?"

"That would be juvenile."

"You said it yourself. You're stooping to a low level."

"To _your_ level. Unless you're admitting you'd practice that sort of behavior."

Pause. "I wouldn't."

"Then sit."

He does.

Pause.

"I'm getting this suit steamed and, you know, deloused."

"I don't have lice."

"Whatever you do have, I don't want it."

"You've made that very clear."

Leg-shaking. "I can't take it."

"Take what?"

Hops up. "Gotta wash my hands."

Watches as he practically runs from room.

Sighs.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Looks up. "What, Dr. Sweets?"

"Where's Agent Booth?"

"Washing his hands."

"Why?"

"He's concerned that being in close proximity to me will result in him getting sick."

"You're sick?" Step backward.

Pause. "Yes."

"With what?" Another step back.

Small smile. "Oh, uh, think it may be influenza. Angela had it before. She was sick for almost two weeks."

"Oh, uh, that's unfortunate." Very far away now. "She's better now?"

"Yes. Still has a bit of a cough, but otherwise..."

"You sure you're well enough to be in?"

"I don't see why not."

"Well, I do. If you're sick, you should be home resting or sleeping or eating soup or something."

"I see." Fake cough. "Excuse me."

"Yes. Let's reschedule."

"To when?"

"Whenever you're feeling better."

"I'll be sure to call you."

"No hurry. Bye."

"Bye."

Disappears back into office. Door shuts.

Predatory grin.

Goes back to couch and grabs belongings. Takes her partner's suit. Walks down hall and turns toward bathrooms. Opens door.

"Hey, our session has been moved."

Looks up from sink. "Really? To when?"

"Until I, uh, 'feel better.'"

Pause. "What did you do, Bones?"

"I just exaggerated my condition."

"You pretended to be sick?"

"Yes. I suppose."

Snort. "You're unbelievable."

"Just stooping to your level." Grin. "Would you like to go have an early dinner?"

"Sure. Where?"

"Sid's."

"Well, let's go."

"You should dry your hair off first." Gestures. "Take you're time. I'll meet you in the car."

"You're driving?"

"I'm driving." Lets door shut and walks away.


	11. Waiting Room VIII

Shifting.

Sniffle.

"Ugh."

"What?"

"Do you have to sit so close to me?"

"It's a small couch, alright?"

"It's not that small, Booth. Just...scoot over there."

"What? Don't want to be close to me, Bones?"

"No."

"Ah, so _now_" Cough "_Now_, you want to be farther away from me, hm?"

"Yes. Much farther."

"How far?"

"Preferably the next building away."

"Ha. Funny."

"I've been working at it."

"I was being sarcastic."

"So was I."

Pause.

"Come on. Please, move over there."

"You want it enough to say 'please'?"

Irritated exhale. "Fine. Move over there. Now."

"Aw, now being mean to me is no way to get me to cooperate, Bones."

"Remember my threat to flip you over?"

"Vaguely."

"Yeah, well, I haven't changed my mind."

"You wouldn't touch me."

"Sure of that?"

Pause. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure."

"Try me."

No movement.

"See, you do believe me. Move over there."

"No."

"No?"

"You were the one that got me sick. You were only out a day. Me, I was out for a week."

"Yeah, and it was a miserable day. I was vomiting through the night."

"How do you think I feel? I've been puking all week."

"I brought you soup."

"I appreciate that, Bones, but you still got me sick."

"_You_ were the one who insisted on that stupid trust fall."

"And you'd been exposing me _intentionally_ since before we did that."

"Well, I knew you'd avoid me."

"Aw, so you exposed me 'cause you'd miss me."

"I did not miss you."

"Yes you did."

"I didn't."

"Did too."

"Didn't we already have this argument?"

"Yeah, two years ago. And you missed me then and you woulda missed me now."

"I did not and would not miss you."

"Yes you would, Bones."

"This argument is going nowhere and you are still too close to me. Move over."

"No. How do you like being breathed on by a sick person, huh? Not fun at all."

"Yeah, but the difference is I could relapse and it could be much, much worse, so just _move over_."

"I don't want to."

"Ugh. You're like a child."

"Then give me some candy."

"I don't have any candy."

"Well that's too bad."

Exhale. "You know, I've flipped men heavier than you over and walked away fine."

"I know. I've seen you do it."

"So move over there."

"Yeah, but you see, Bones, you see, I just don't want to."

"_I_ want you to."

"I know."

"So move."

Sniffle. "No."

"Well, I'm not moving."

"Good. So we'll both just keep sitting here like this. Got a tissue?"

Shifting. "No."

"Yeah, you do. You pulled one from your pocket earlier when you had to blow your nose. Give it to me."

"It's in the trash."

"Ha. Funny—"

"I thought so."

"Give me a clean one."

"What? No please?"

"Well, I'd just take it, but it's not in your purse, it's in your pocket, so you have to get it."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then I'll take it."

"I'll break your wrist."

"No you won't."

"Do remember Howard Epps?"

"Yeah, but he had it coming."

"So would you."

"I don't have creepy serial killer hands."

"But you _did_ kill a lot of people."

Pause. "Okay, now you're just _trying_ to irritate me."

"Good. Move farther away."

"Uh uh, Bones. I want that tissue. My nose is itchy."

"Use your sleeve."

"_That's_ sanitary."

"At least I was prepared enough to bring tissues."

"We're partners. We share things."

"Currently we're sharing too much."

"Like what?"

"My personal space."

"What? Has it now increased to cover the whole couch?"

"For a sick person? Yes. Definitely."

"_You're_ sick too."

"I'm aware. Believe me."

"So what's the problem? Can't we share germs?"

"No. I don't want to have it come back."

"But then we could be miserable _together_."

"You're well enough to be here. Who's to say _I_ won't be vomiting up everything I've eaten recently tonight or tomorrow while you go out and have pizza or something?"

Silence.

"Exactly. No answer. Move over there."

Silence.

"What? What's with the scrunchy face?"

"I've gotta sneeze."

Shifting. "Then look away from me."

"Give me a tissue."

"No."

Movement.

Grabs wrist.

"Sneeze on me, Booth, I'll break your wrist."

"No you won't."

"I will. Let go."

"Tissue."

"Go to the bathroom."

"I want a tissue, not toilet paper."

"No. If I indulge you on one thing, you'll expect me to fold whenever you want something."

"How do you even know what fold means?"

"I'm starting to get the feeling you don't have to sneeze."

"Wanna bet?"

"With what? I've got pocket change and a breath mint."

"I'll take the breath mint."

"I wasn't offering it to you."

"Why do you only carry pocket change?"

"Because I wasn't planning on going anywhere tonight except here. Honestly, I wasn't even planning to come here at all and was going to spend the night in bed."

Lets go of wrist. "You're still sick?"

"You're still sick."

"I thought you said you were over it."

"I never said that. I'm just not vomiting."

"Why were you at work if you're still sick?"

"Because I wasn't vomiting."

"But, what, you're still achy and sore and have a stuffy nose?"

"Yes. You never did have to sneeze, did you?"

"Well, what if _I_ get it again from being so close to you?"

Irritated exhale. "I guess it would be your fault for sitting so close to me."

"I didn't know you were still _sick_."

"Have you been listening to my voice?"

"Yeah, but, sometimes my nose is still stuffy after I get sick."

"Have you noticed how light my clothing is? I've still got a fever."

"Bones, you shouldn't be working if you've got a fever."

"I didn't want to be home."

"Ugh." Shifting. "Bones—"

"Oh, so _now_ you want to be farther away from me?"

"Yeah. I didn't know you were sicker than me."

"Well, I am, apparently."

"Why didn't you just tell Sweets you're not feeling well?"

"Well, I only got his message after I woke up from a nap and when I called, nobody answered."

"Well, you could've called me."

"And said what, exactly?"

"That you're sick and not coming in."

"Because you would've come in to tell Sweets yourself?"

"No. I'd just call until he picked up."

"That's obnoxious."

"But it works."

Pause. "Well, it's too late now. I'm here. You're here."

"Yeah, but I feel like crap. Don't you feel like crap?"

"Not literally, but, yes, I do feel bad."

"Bad?"

"Somewhere between bad and awful."

"You should go home."

"Why?"

"Because now I want you several buildings away."

"I only you said I wanted you one building away."

"What does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Well, whatever. Point is, you're sick, you stay home."

"You're still sick."

"But I took the week."

"I took a day."

"That's not long enough."

Pause.

"Ugh. I know that face."

"What face?" Weak voice.

"Sneezy face."

"I'm not...going to sneeze." Inhale.

Jumps up. "Naw uh. You are and I don't want your germs."

"According to you, they're the sa—" Quickly grabs tissue.

Sneezes.

"Jesus, Bones, sneeze louder. I think the people on the moon didn't here you."

"There are no—" Sneezes. "...people on the moon." Breathes.

"You know what? Now that I look at you from here, you look awful, Bones. You should go home."

"What a flattering thing to say."

"I'm just stating a fact."

"How is it that you didn't notice until now?"

"After you sneezed you got all white."

"Well, that's to be expected. My blood pressure just dropped."

Alarm. "You're not going to faint on me, are you?"

"I'm fine. See, this is why I didn't say anything to you. You get all worked up about nothing."

"Nothing? Bones, you're pale and you've got a fever."

"You're pale and how do I know you don't have a fever?"

Sits back down. "I'm not pale."

"Trust me, Booth, you're pale."

"Well, I don't _feel_ pale."

"I don't feel pale either."

"Then how do you know your blood pressure dropped?"

No reply.

"See, you should be home resting. You never should've gone back to work if you were still feeling bad."

"I always go to work when I feel bad."

"Always? Jeez, Bones, how do I know I'm not being exposed to disease every time I get near you then?"

"Well, with your prowess in observational skills, you should be able to discern that without me telling you."

No answer.

Silence.

"Why do you even go to work if you feel sick?"

Shrug. "Guess it just carried over from when I was first competing to get a good slot in the graduate program over at Northwestern. When you missed days, you got behind."

"Yeah, but now you've got your own lab. Who're you competing with?"

"No one. It's just old habit."

"It's stupid."

"I never said it was rational, just that it was habit. I'm sure you have irrational habits."

Pause.

"Exactly." Cough.

"Oh, great, now you're coughing."

"Like you said, we can be miserable together."

"Why weren't you coughing before?"

"I guess I was feeling better then."

"And now you're not?"

"Well, we've been bickering non-stop since I got here and I'm feeling tired again after sneezing."

"Bones, if _sneezing_ makes you tired, then it's time to call it a night."

"I feel tired because my blood pressure dropped. Actually, it's because that gave me a headache and that made me tired."

"You shouldn't even drive home."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not going to be driving right now."

"No you won't. I'll take you."

"No. My car's parked here. I'm driving back in my own car."

"Fine. I'll drive you back in your car and then take a taxi back here and get my car."

"I don't need an escort and you are not driving my car."

"What if you faint at the wheel or something?"

"I've never been brought to the point of passing out without drugs in my system."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Why are you so much more qualified to drive? You've got a fever and have the same pathology as I do."

"Because I'm not light-headed."

"I'm not light-headed anymore."

"Yeah, you're just headachy and tired. That's a really great state of mind to be driving with."

"I don't care. I am not leaving now, you are not taking me home, and you are not driving my car. End of discussion."

Silence.

"Why can't you just let me take care of you?"

"I don't want to be taken care of, I never have. I told you. We're not discussing this any further."

"Yes we are. You shouldn't be driving if you're light-headed, it's not safe. I'm not taking care of you, I'm just making sure you don't die in an accident."

"If that happened, it would be my business."

"No, it wouldn't be your business, Bones, because you'd be dead."

"I'm not going to die, Booth. I have the flu."

"Yeah, and people in car accidents have a ton of metal and glass being shoved into their heads and necks and backs and sides. I've been living with people who work with dead people for half my career. You think I don't know about people in accidents?"

"You're getting too worked up about this. How high is your fever?"

"You can't just let pride get in the way all the time, Bones. What if something happened to you?"

"Well, you're sick too. By your logic, neither of us should be driving."

"Well, what about this, huh? We both take a cab home and take a cab back to pick up our cars whenever we feel better?"

"And who's going to look after our cars?"

"It's a government building. They're not going to be towed or anything."

"Maybe yours won't, but I'm a civilian. I don't have a government car."

"We'll put a sign on it. Come on, Bones. Deal?"

Pause. "Who's paying the cab fare? All I have is spare change and a breath mint."

"Yeah, I know. I'll pay."

"But that isn't right. Why are you paying? I don't need to be taken care of."

"Now who's fever is high?"

No reply.

"Besides, you don't have enough money to cover it and I do. You can pay for the cab fare when we come back to get our cars."

No reply.

"Come on, Bones. Just humor me."

"This is what I was saying about indulgence."

"Yeah, and I'll keep on insisting."

"You are extremely annoying."

"But you still miss me."

"I did _not_ miss you."

"You did."

"The chances of me taking that cab are reducing by the second."

"Then let's leave now."

"Without telling Sweets?"

"It's his fault. He should've picked up the phone when you called."

"But the last time we left without canceling he made us wear those ugly, smelly hats."

"He tries to do it again, just sneeze on him."

"I can't sneeze by will."

"Then bring a used tissue and shove it down his mouth. I have a full trash can at home and I bet you do too."

"I do."

"Great, then it's a plan." Gets up.

"This is stupid."

"It'll make a sick man happy."

"At the expense of making a sick woman unhappy."

"I'll do something nice for you." Holds out hand.

Ignores it. "Like what?"

"I'll figure it out." Waves hand.

Pauses.

Gets up.

"I'll hold you to that."

"Okay. Good. Whatever. Let's go."

"Coming, coming. You're so impatient."

"Just a concerned partner. Come on. Let's go."

"If you're proximity tonight will cause me to relapse, I am going to break your wrist."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it."

"I'm serious."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"I'm starting to get the whole pointless argument thing."

"Only now?"

"Yeah. Only now." Exhale.


	12. Waiting Room IX

"This isn't right."

Sniff. "I know."

"I should've shot him."

"I almost wish you had."

Exhale. "Bones, did you have to pick _that moment_ to sneeze?"

"Wha—Why are you blaming me? How do you know he didn't hear that hacking fit you had?"

"Maybe he heard us both."

"So, what, we're both equally accepting the blame?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Exhalation.

Pause.

"Bones..."

"What?"

"This just isn't right."

"You've already said that."

"I mean, we come here to pick up our cars and Sweets just _happens_ to be coming outside at that moment and makes us come in?"

"We could've simply ignored him. Pretended that, I don't know, we had ear infections or something."

"Well, we don't have ear infections." Pause. "Right?"

"I don't have an ear infection, Booth."

"Good."

"Good for me or good for you?"

"For you...and for me."

Eye roll.

"But you know what else isn't right?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

"We came here just to pick up our cars and go back home, he catches us, and then he leaves for another shrink appointment, and we have to wait here. Again."

"It is annoying."

"You don't sound very upset."

"It's hard to be upset when it feels like I've got two very large spikes being shoved into my cranium through my ears."

Pause. "Lovely image."

"It's a lovelier feeling."

"You know, I thinking I'm starting to warm to the sarcasm."

"Good, because it's not going away. Do you have any ibuprofen?"

"Didn't you already take three?"

"Yes, but I want some more."

"Want some Vicoden while you're at it?"

"I don't think that will be necessary. Just some more ibuprofen."

"Doesn't it seem like a little much?"

"One builds up a tolerance to pain medication after experiencing menstrual cramps for over a decade and a half."

"Too much information, Bones."

"You asked."

"Just if it was much."

"The question required contextualizing to answer. Do you have any?"

"No. I took mine before we came here."

Sighs. "And I'm out."

"Out? How much did you take?"

"Well, I already took most of it two weeks ago when I was—"

"Don't want to know."

Stops. Sighs.

Pause.

"You know, Bones, something's bothering me."

"Something's bothering me too. Mostly it's the sensation that my head's going to explode."

"Maybe the Advil just hasn't kicked in yet. But, no, it's that Sweets was wandering around outside when he has an appointment."

"Maybe he was just getting coffee. Does it seem really bright in here?"

"No. You know, I'm getting the feeling that he doesn't actually have an appointment."

"Then what is he doing in his office?"

Pause.

"What's with the face?"

Shakes head. "Uh, nothing. Just the way you, uh, phrased that."

"What?" Pause. "What?"

"Nothing."

"My patience is running thin, Booth. My head hurts. A lot."

"I'm sorry, Bones, but the image I just saw, it won't help you one bit."

Pause. "Oh—oh. You think he's mastur—"

"What is your obsession with that word?"

"I don't have an obsession with it. It's just a clinical...a clinic—al..." Grabs tissue.

Jumps back.

Sneezes.

"Ugh. God, my head hurts." Leans against couch. Closes eyes.

"This isn't right. You should be home, I should be home." Coughs. "This isn't right."

"Do you have to talk so loudly?"

"I'm not talking loudly."

"It sounds like you're talking into a megaphone."

Pause.

"Hey, Bones."

"What?" Growled.

"You know what you could do?"

"Vomit. Sleep for a few hours on my bathroom floor. Sleep..." Sniff. "anywhere."

"Well, that, and you could pretend to faint."

Eyes blink open. One-eyed glare.

"What? What's with the stink-eye?"

"I'm not a damsel, and I am not pretending to faint."

"But then we could go home."

"How do I know that Sweets wouldn't insist on talking me to a hospital, where it would inevitably be discovered that I, in fact, did not pass out?"

"Well, you said you could sleep anywhere. Just go to sleep and I'll say you fainted."

"In your condition I wouldn't want you driving."

"We could take a cab."

"Right. Take a cab to a hospital. I'm not sleeping on cab seats."

"Oh, come on, Bones."

"No. Absolutely not. You want to faint—" Cough "you go right ahead."

"But men don't faint."

"They do, and if you want to use this ploy to get a free ride home, then it better be you who executes."

"But I sure as hell don't want _you_ driving me."

"Then I guess your plan cannot be carried out."

Exhalation. "How else can we get home?"

"I don't know, but I don't want to move."

"What happened to the strong, I-can-move-all-by-myself Bones?"

"She experienced a very bad influenza relapse that can probably be traced back to her partner."

"Cute use of third person there."

"Yeah. I thought so."

"Well, you could just fall asleep here and I could say you fell asleep and aren't really feeling well enough to be here."

Silence.

"Bones?"

"Mm?"

"Listening?"

"Something about sleeping and feelings and being here." Mumbled.

"You know what, Bones? Why don't you just go to sleep?"

"I think I may."

Pause.

"Bones?"

No reply.

"Bones?"

Silence.

Poke. "Bones?"

"What?" Groan.

"I don't know."

"Then why are you speaking? Your voice is hurting my ears."

"I don't know. It's just weird..."

"What?"

"For you to be all balled up on the couch next to me."

"It is weird. I don't have enough space. Move to another chair so I can stretch out."

"No, not like that."

"Then like what?"

"I don't know."

"Obviously you do know and I don't have the patience to guess, so either say it or be quiet."

"I forgot."

"Good. Be quiet."

Silence.

Long moments pass.

Exhalation and her form relaxes.

"Bones?"

Nothing.

Sighs. "Great, now she's asleep and I'm all alone in this waiting room."

No reply.

"It's not right."

Silence.

"This whole thing isn't right."

Bzzz.

"I'm going to shoot that light."

Bzzzz.

"Where the hell is Sweets so I can shoot him?"

Bzzzzzz.

Slight snore.

Heel slams into his leg.

"Ouch! Jesus, Bones, that hurt."

No reply.

Glance over.

She's asleep.

Sigh. "She's violent even when she's out." Gets up. "I can't take it anymore." Heads to Sweets' office.

Bangs on door. "Sweets!"

No reply.

"Sweets!"

Nothing.

Jeez, there's something wrong here.

"Sweets! Hey! Open the door!"

Nothing.

Pause.

"That's it."

Opens door.

Room is empty.

"What? Sweets? Where are you? Sweets!"

No reply.

Glances around. Exhales.

What's that?

Walks to note on Sweets' chair. Opens. Reads.

_This is how it feels to walk into an empty room when you were expecting an appointment._

"I'm going to _kill_ him..."

Shreds note.

Stomps out of office.

Brennan's stretched over the entire couch, one hand brushing the floor. Her coat's over her torso.

Great, she's never going to get up.

Exhales.

I'm never going to get home.

Plops onto chair.

Takes off coat and slips around shoulders loosely.

Yawns.

She's making me tired.

Yanks pillow from back and leans against it.

Closes eyes.

She'll wake me when she gets up.

I think.

No she won't.

Exhales and melts into chair.

Falls asleep.


	13. Waiting Room X

'Kay, this has nothing at all to do with the stick storyline I had going there for awhile...

"Why Therapy Isn't the Right Word"

Waiting Session X

"So..."

"Yes?"

"I don't know. It just seems kind of quiet."

"That's because neither of us are talking."

"Yeah, I realize that, Bones."

"But now it's not quiet."

"That's the idea."

"So you want to talk about not talking?"

"I just wanted to talk, but if you don't want to then, you know, that's fine too."

Pause. "So you don't want me to talk?"

"I don't know."

Eyebrow crinkle. "But you're the one who started talking first."

"I know. Whatever, Bones. It's fine. You wanna talk, we'll talk, you don't, we won't."

Pause. "Why is this decision predicated upon me? I wasn't the one who started conversation, you did. So that tells me you want me to talk."

Exhalation.

"But from your body language I'm getting the message that you want me to stop talking. You know, the signs you put out are confusing."

"All I said was that it was quiet."

"Yes, and thus _implied_ you wanted it not to be quiet, and you invited conversation."

"Well, now I'm not."

"I see."

Long pause.

Odd sound.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Bones."

"Was that you or me?"

Shifting. "Me."

"Are you hungry? Because I have a little granola bar somewhere in my purse I'm sure I could find."

"Bones, if you have to 'find' it in your purse, then I'm sure I don't want it."

"Why? I'm sure it's still edible."

" 'Still edible'?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sure I want to eat something that's just edible."

"Well, what more do you want? It's not as if I can order take-out to be delivered to this wing of the Hoover building. Or any wing at all."

Groan.

"Just take the bar. I'm sure it still tastes good."

"It's rabbit food."

"I still don't know what that means, and even if it's true, I'm living quite well off my so-called 'rabbit food.' "

"I guess."

"Besides, it's not as if anyone else is offering you something to eat, and unless you have something in your suit pocket, we'll have to sit through Sweets' session for probably an hour before we can even leave, and it'll be maybe another half hour or more before we get to eat."

"I have something..." feels around suit pocket.

"What?"

Pause. "Hm."

"What?"

"How did that get in here?"

"What is it?"

Pulls out. "It's...'Nature Valley.' "

Confiscates. "This looks like one of my granola bars."

"That's because it is."

"You _stole_ my granola bar?"

"No, no. I'm sure I just found one on your desk."

"If you think they're rabbit food, why would you take one?"

"I don't know. Maybe I was hungry."

"But you didn't eat it."

"Maybe I didn't want to."

"Well, if you're not going to eat it, I may. I'm hungry too."

"I thought you ate."

"Well, I did, but that was several hours ago and it was some sort of coffeecake I found in the lounge."

"Why do you keep eating food you have to 'find'?"

Shrug. "It was available. I was hungry. I ate it."

"Bones, you're a best-selling author with more money in your account than I have in my house. You don't need to eat available food. Just go out to lunch."

"Well, I would, but if Angela had seen me leaving she would've dragged me down to some boutique that apparently opened up somewhere and make me try on shoes or something."

"So instead of risking it you decided to just eat 'some sort of coffeecake'?"

"Yes."

Leans back. Grins.

"What? You can't tell me that you would've chosen to go."

"I wouldn't, but I'm not a girl."

Hits lightly.

"Hey!"

"I remember having a discussion about this." Ignores. "And didn't you say that I was essentially a man and I said you're essentially a woman?"

Pause. "Yes." Muttered.

"Thus, according to the gender stereotypes we have accepted, _I_ acted perfectly within my accepted gender whereas _you_, the woman, would've acted in a manner inappropriate for your gender."

"I'm a man, Bones, not a woman."

"Sexually, you're male. But genders are variable and not dependent on sex. In fact—"

"Bones?"

"What?"

"Let's just skip the anthropological lecture."

"Don't judge my coffeecake."

"You started that whole thing so you didn't have to talk about eating coffeecake?"

"Of course not. It just happened to go in that direction."

"Yeah, with your heavy direction."

"What can I say? Once you teach, you learn how to derail a conversation."

"But you're not teaching right now."

"I teach part-time every other semester and guest speak. I used to teach full-time. It's not something you forget."

"You know, for somebody who's taught, you still seem—"

"Finish that thought, and we're talking about your feminine gender."

"Point taken."

"Good." Pause. "Ugh." Groans. "Now I'm hungry too. Give me back that granola bar."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm hungry."

Pause.

"Just give it to me. You've already made it clear you don't want it."

"Well, now I'm not so sure."

"What?"

"Well, I mean, I am pretty hungry."

"Booth, you stole that from my desk, made fun of it, and are now considering eating it?"

Pause. "Yes."

Rolls eyes. "Incorrigible."

"Well, come on, Bones, trying to follow you sometimes it, you know, builds up an appetite."

"That's ridiculous and you were hungry before I started talking."

"But I'm more hungry now."

"Fine. Eat it. I'll see if I can find the one in my purse."

"Here we go with you finding food again."

"Well, what do you suggest? I leave and go pick up a pizza?"

"You know, that actually sounds kind of good."

Pause. "It does, actually."

Long pause.

"Oh, great, now I'm thinking about pizza, Bones. Just great."

"How do you think I feel? I was going to be satisfied with a granola bar."

"You brought it up."

"Because you wouldn't let me just eat the thing."

"Well, now you can have it." Holds it out.

"I don't want it."

Scowl. "What do you want? I'm not exactly carrying around a buffet here."

Shifting. "Pizza."

"Stop talking about it. It's making me hungry."

"You're already hungry and if I have to think about it, you have to think about it."

"No I don't."

"Well, I want you to."

"Why?"

"Something about misery loves company."

"But you're not miserable. You're hungry."

"So what? I don't want to be the only one here thinking about pizza."

"You're not. Believe me."

"I want to make sure we're on the same booklet."

"Page."

"Whatever. I'm thinking just cheese."

"Oh, yeah. Thin slice, cheese dripping off."

"Greasy."

"It's terrible we like greasy pizza, Bones."

"I don't feel terrible about it."

"You know, I'm tempted to leave right now and get it."

"So am I."

"One of us should leave and go get it."

"I agree."

"Who's going to do it?"

"Well, I have the cash in my wallet. And I just filled up on gas."

"I'm in a government car."

"You make less than me."

"I've been making money longer."

"You bought dinner last time."

"Na uh. Greasy pizza doesn't cover big Indian buffet."

"I'll buy the pizza and some beer."

"Throw in some Pringles and you can go."

"No. I always eat too many."

"I'll stop you."

"No you won't."

"No I won't."

"Proves my point."

"Get it anyway."

Groans. "Sour cream and onion?"

"Sour cream and onion, Bones."

"Fine." Gets up. "I'll be back soon."

She leaves the room.

Silence settles in.

Crinkling of granola wrapper. "I wonder if Sweets likes rabbit food..."

No answer from the room.

He settles in to wait.


End file.
